Cirque Du Mystère
by HowAboutThat
Summary: After being found by the ringmaster of Cirque Du Mystère Stanley finally has a chance to get off of the streets, but will he mess it up like he's messed up so many other things in the past? Is his past really buried or will it come back to haunt him? Or is it his future that he has to worry about? (Violence, Mild Language) (Also: Family, Crime, Angst, The Usual) (So many OCs)


HAT: You know I couldn't help myself as soon as I saw notllorstel's post and then tashaquekaysha's post on tumblr. They inspired me so much! Now it may start off slow, but it's the first chapter, give it a chance! And moving on from that, I want all of you to enjoy!

One for the money! Two for the show! Three get ready! Four to go!

Disclaimer: I don't own Gravity Falls, it's characters or the idea of this, just the plot and most of the OCs (except the ringmaster, he's inspired by notllorstel's drawing).

* * *

Four years since he was kicked out onto the streets by his own family and it's just as rough surviving now as it was when he first started. He's still _broke_ , still has no friends or family, and still _hungry_. And what's worse is that in the four years he's been on the streets he's seen way too many things for someone his age to see and been through too much. He had to chew his way out of the trunk of a car- for goodness sake!

He sighs and leans back in his carseat and runs a hand through his hair while trying to think of his next move. What is there to do? He very well can't go pickpocket someone at this hour- no one's awake yet- but his stomach's way too persistent to keep him in his car in the woods for very long. He'll have to at least _try_ to do _something_ to stop the pain of his stomach twisting with emptiness.

With an exasperated sigh he reaches into the back seat and grabs one of his multiple white shirts- why his father packed mostly white shirts, he'll never know- and sniffs it. It doesn't smell _too_ bad so he throws it over his shoulder and reaches into his "bathroom" in the glove compartment for his deodorant and and body spray. He doesn't want to smell like he is- a homeless guy.

He throws on his shirt and then glances at the cluttered back seat- he'll clean it later.

Once he's in town he drives through the mostly lonely streets with the occasional early morning worker on their way to work. He glances at the tank and sees it's under ¼th full and sighs- it's not exactly healthy for the engine to get so low, but it's not like he has much of a choice.

He pulls into the first gas station that he sees and turns off his car immediately. He looks into his wallet and-thankfully- finds a dollar. That should be enough for a little gas in the tank and some food- not much food with so little, but enough.

There's a knock on his window and he looks at a man with dirty blond hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin- obviously from hours of standing in the sun- standing there in his work uniform. "Excuse me, would you like me to fill up your tank?"

Stan nods and rolls down the window and hands over the dollar bill. "Could you give me a little bit of change?"

"Yes, sir," the man says, taking a dime out of his pocket and handing it to Stan and gives him a regretful look. "Sorry, it's all I have on me."

"It's not problem, thanks," Stan grunts and gets out of his car to stretch while the man does his job in filling up the tank a little bit. Having gas to get places was more important anyway. Sure he'll get a few gallons of gas, but it'll be enough to last him until he can come by some more money. Once it's done he shakes the man's hand. "Thanks."

"You take care, now," the man says.

"You, too," Stan replies and drives off.

His stomach protests being denied food and he grimaces as it twists painfully. He needs food and it doesn't matter how much it is, he needs it. He goes to the nearest diner he can find and walks in with his hand wrapped protectively around the dime- the last scrap of money that he has until he pickpockets some unfortunate soul.

He sits in a booth and takes a menu to see what the most filling thing he can get would be. Everything was just so expensive! He'd need _at least_ a quarter to get a something solid on his stomach. The most he can get food-wise would be fries by themselves.

"How can I help you, young man?" the waitress asks as she walks over to him. She's short and curvy with light skin, light brown hair, and green eyes- a pretty woman that he'd say were in her thirties.

"Could I just get some fries or something?" Stanley asks, putting the dime on the table. "As much as that'll get me?"

She nods and takes the dime and walks off to do her job.

As soon as she's preoccupied with another customer- an older gentleman with a neatly cut white beard and mustache, slicked back salt-n-pepper hair, olive skin, and blue eyes- Stan leans down and puts his forehead on the table and hugs his middle as his stomach does a particularly painful twist. He's too hungry to even think straight and his vision is becoming iffy while his head feels light- he's gonna pass out if he doesn't get food soon.

"Here ya go, sweetie," the waitress says and he immediately sits up.

He looks down and finds an entire _breakfast_ in front of him- including orange juice! "Um, excuse me, miss, I didn't order this."

Why is he doing this? He should be digging in and acting like he paid for it in full.

"That man over there paid for your food," she answers, gesturing to the older gentleman.

"Tell him I say thanks," Stanley says, immediately unwrapping his fork and knife to dig into the pancakes.

"I would if I could, hun, but he just left," she says. "Enjoy your meal."

He blinks in surprise- why had the man paid for Stan's food and left?- and only when his stomach twists again does he ignore his confusion and dig into the meal. Bacon, eggs, hash browns- the whole nine yards! He'll have to thank that man if he ever sees him again.

* * *

 _Gah! Another shirt ruined,_ Stan thinks as he holds the scolding hot shirt away from his body. He'd spilled his ten cent coffee all over himself and- needless to say- he's irritated that he's wasted something so expensive.

Another rough patch where he's got no money for food, gas, or any other luxury. It's a pain, but that's what he's been dealt. He can't turn back the clock and redo that night no matter how hard he's wished or prayed.

With a sigh he takes off his shirt and uses the water from the bathroom sink to try and clean it before any stains can set in. After taking ten minutes to ensure that his shirt will have only the minimum mount of staining he wrings it out as best he can before putting it back on- he can't walk out into public without a shirt.

He groans at how wrinkled and messy he looks- he can't seem to catch a break at all!

Despite this he walks out with his chin up and goes straight to his car that's parked a bit away from the diner he was just in. He takes off his wet shirt and drapes it out the window before putting on a new shirt while muttering under his breath.

"Excuse me, young man, you left this in the diner."

Stan looks out his window and finds a man with neatly trimmed facial hair, slicked back salt-n-pepper hair, olive skin, and blue eyes wearing a pair of slacks and white button down shirt holding his wallet out to him between his forefinger and middle finger. The face seems familiar, but he can't quite recall from where.

"Um, thanks," Stan stutters while taking his wallet.

"You're welcome," he says. "Just be mindful where you have it."

With that said the man turns and begins walking away.

Suddenly it clicks in his mind where he saw the man before. In the diner a few towns over- just a few weeks ago- and he had paid for the breakfast.

As quickly as he can he puts his shirt on the steering wheel and rolls up his window and gets out of his car while locking the doors. He sees that the man's about to walk around the corner and he shouts for the man to wait up and runs after him. Thankfully the man's stopped and is waiting for Stan to catch up, though he seems to have a confused look on his face.

Stan skids to a stop in front of the older man and blanches for a moment before coming back to his senses. "I- uh- I just wanted to say thanks for paying for my breakfast a few weeks back- you have no idea how much that means to me."

The older man shrugs. "You seemed to have hit a rough patch."

"You have no idea," Stan grumbles.

"What was that?"

"N-nothing, sir," Stan stutters awkwardly.

The older man observes him for several seconds and then grabs his wallet and pulls out a piece of paper. "Here, a woman told me that someone may need this and you seem to be the person. Come by if you wanna have a good time."

 _(A/N: Is it bad that I'm excited even though this is my story and I know what's gonna happen, generally?)_

Stan takes the paper and looks at it. It's the size of a pamphlet and has a deep violet bottom that fades into midnight blue that fades into forest green at the top and in orange letters outlined in red are the words " _Cirque Du Mystère_ " and below that is the picture of an animated lion roaring and inside the mouth stands a person that's also animated.

"A… circus?"

"Yeah. You can even get free concession- just tell 'em Louis sent you," he says. "Come if you want or give away the ticket- show's tomorrow night so better choose fast. See ya, kid."

The man walks away, leaving Stan standing there with the ticket in his hands.


End file.
